Opposites Attract
by A. X. Zanier
Summary: The Agency comes to the aid of a young girl, who is not quite what she seems.
1. Part 1

Author: A. X. Zanier

Rating: R (language, violence, adult situations)

Disclaimer: I do not own the characters or basic story ideas to "The Invisible Man."  Any additional characters or ideas are mine.

Timeline:  During season two, after "Exposed."

Spoilers:  Let's see: BK, Exposed, MFN 1&2, TC, TCh, FtB, JA, 3PoC

Comments:  This is a 'What If" like you wouldn't believe and was inspired by a comment in another fic of mine.

Thanks to Rebecca(WorkerCaste) for Beta-ing this bit of weirdness.

Opposites Attract

_"If everything seems under control, you're just not going fast enough." Mario Andretti coined that little bit of reality. My problem? What happens when you hit that brick wall?_

It was amazing how quickly a rather boring and normal day could turn dark and dangerous, though unexpected turns had pretty much become the norm in his life in the last year or so. Ever since the little incident involving Arnaud and the bout of Stage Five madness, things had been... different. That had begun the change, the slow downward spiral into ever-deeper depression and despair, and then Kevin -- his thrice-be-damned, self-righteous, I-know-better-than-you brother, and his last real chance to get this gland out of his head -- had abandoned him to this fate, this life of torture and hell.

He just wandered day to day, trying not to think about whether or not he'd ever get free of this place, of the gland. He forced himself into a routine of sorts and stuck to it, never thinking beyond that day, that hour, that moment. Because to think beyond was scary, hopeless, and depressing. If he concentrated on the now, he was fine, but to even contemplate the future would cause him to spiral into another bout of depression. And though part of him wanted -- almost craved -- the dark emotions that would lead him to, he resisted. That one tiny bit of hope still flickered and burned in the depths of his soul.

His sudden attack of deep thoughts was ended by the sound of screeching tires and, of all things, gunfire. He and Hobbes stood in the parking lot of the local sports bar they had chosen to unwind in for a couple of hours and watched in amazement as a car -- an older model Toyota from the looks of it -- came barreling around the corner, followed closely by a couple of late model sedans, both black with dark tinted windows. A hand sticking out of the window of the first sedan was waving a gun and, with what had to have been a lucky shot, blew out the right front tire of the Toyota. The little car veered sharply and hit the curb hard enough to roll it. The tumbling vehicle came right at the two of them.

"Ah, shit, Fawkes." Hobbes grabbed Darien by the arm and dove out of the way. The two of them ended up on the ground, bruised but mostly unhurt. Getting to their feet, they saw the mystery car had come to a rest on its roof just a dozen feet away, rocking slowly up and down. The two sedans had stopped with squealing tires. Dark-suited men were boiling out of the vehicles, headed for the overturned car with guns drawn. Some of those weapons were obviously tranquilizer guns, and it made both men really curious as to who they were after.

That's when they saw the figure crawling out of the smashed rear window of the Toyota. The person crawled a few feet away from the car and then struggled to get upright. When they realized that it was girl, a young girl, neither man hesitated and both ran to her side.

"Help me," she begged as she all but collapsed onto Darien, who did his best to support the tiny figure.

"Hobbes?" Darien looked at his partner, who nodded and drew his weapon.

"Federal Agent!" Hobbes shouted at the men who were approaching. They didn't look at all happy that he and Fawkes had gotten involved.

"Back off. You have no idea what you're dealing with. Just turn it over to us." The guy talking was wearing dark sunglasses and spoke in a dangerous voice.

"It?" Darien didn't really care for the guy calling this child an 'it.' He noticed the way the guy's buddies tried to flank them and shifted the girl so the she was more behind him. "Somehow I don't think these are the good guys, Hobbes."

"Me either, partner." Hobbes glanced back at the kid, who looked terrified of the men before them. She was also hurt pretty bad by the looks of it, with blood running down the side of her face and bruises blossoming on her arms. Turning back to the MIB look-a-likes, Hobbes shook his head. "I don't think so."

The man gave a harsh bark of laughter. "Think again. We won't hesitate to shoot you." The sound of weapons cocking was loud in the parking lot that had gone eerily quiet for a Wednesday evening.

"Now give it to me."

"No!" the girl screamed. She wrenched herself away from Darien and moved to stand in front of Hobbes. She was shaking like a leaf and barely able to stand up, yet she stood there facing down the men who had chased her here. "Don't make me do it, Corvan."

"You wouldn't dare, not with so many 'innocents' about," the man she called Corvan sneered. "Come with me, or I'll start by shooting them." He waved at Fawkes and Hobbes and it was plain to both men he meant it.

The girl shook harder and looked about them. A crowd had gathered, the patrons of the sports bar having come outside to see what was going on. Sirens could now be heard in the distance. Coming to some sort of decision, she got herself under control and straightened. "Leave, Corvan. Tell your master I'm free."

Darien glanced over at Hobbes, wanting to know what to do, but Hobbes was as unsure as he from the looks of it. They had stumbled into something that was obviously very big and very dangerous. "Fawkes, grab her and get out of here. I'll cover you." Hobbes said in a low voice.

"Hobbes?" Darien wanted to be sure. Shooming two people was hard enough, but in front of a crowd like this was usually a major no-no.

"You got another plan?" Hobbes countered. They ran out of time then, as the first of the wailing sirens -- a SDPD cruiser -- pulled into the lot. The officers went into the standard routine and found themselves being shot at by the black-suited men.

Darien took advantage of the distraction to grab the girl and pull her behind a car, where he quicksilvered the two of them like Hobbes had suggested. Holding her firmly, he headed towards the van and got her inside. Hobbes joined them moments later, having used the shoot-out as cover to make his escape. From the front seat, he watched the MIB's grab their wounded and take off in their cars as more police arrived, along with fire trucks and an ambulance.

"Fawkes, you in here?"

"Huh? Oh, yeah." Darien had been freaked, just enough that he'd forgotten to drop the quicksilver from the two of them. As it flaked away, he looked down to see the girl who lay in his arms staring up at him in total surprise. He was kind of shocked himself. The girl has the most startling eyes he had ever seen -- the pupils were silver, quicksilver to be exact, though there were striations and variances much like a normal eye. He was immediately taken with them. "You okay?" he finally managed, once he'd found his voice.

Bobby glanced back at the two of them as he started the van and began driving away. Somehow he knew that the police shouldn't know about the kid. Not yet anyway. "Fawkes, she's been hit."

Darien pulled his eyes away from hers and looked lower to find a tranq dart sticking out of her shoulder. Removing it he tried to get her talking. "Crap. Try and stay awake, okay."

The girl nodded at him even as her eyes became glassy. "Thanks for trying," she mumbled.

Her breathing became a bit erratic, which scared Darien. He'd hate to think there might have been something other than a knockout drug in the dart. They wouldn't kill her, would they? It had looked like they were trying to capture, not kill. "Hobbes, hurry."

"Fast as I can. Called the Keep to let her know we're on the way." He dodged about some slower moving traffic, heading back to the Agency. It was the only place he could think of to take her.

"Try to keep her talking."

Darien nodded and turned back to the girl, who was fighting to keep her eyes open. "What's your name?"

She blinked up at him and then began to shake. For a second, he thought it was over, that this young child they had tried to rescue was going to die in his arms. Then he realized she was laughing. "My name? You want to know my name?"

He couldn't understand why she found this amusing. "Yeah. I'm Darien. That's Bobby." He pointed at Hobbes who had pulled up in front of the Agency at last.

"It's been so long," she mumbled, her eyes sliding shut as she lost the fight against the sedative. Bobby slid open the side door and helped Fawkes lift the girl so they could get her inside. 

Alex met them in the lobby. "What happened?"

"Later, Monroe. Keep first." Hobbes pushed past her and led the way downstairs to the Keeper's lab.

"Why is it the two of you just seem to attract trouble?" Alex asked, shaking her head.

"Luck?" Darien suggested.

"Timing," Hobbes offered.

Alex shook her head again and followed along. "At least you keep things interesting."

"A compliment?" Darien added only a touch of sarcasm to his words.

"Fawkes, it's the truth," Alex answered. Any further conversation was cut off by their arrival at the Keep.

The door was open and Claire was waiting for them. "Put her on the exam chair." It had been reconfigured flat; Darien laid the girl gently upon it before stepping back.

"Fawkes, you stay here. I'm gonna tell the boss what happened." Hobbes waited for Darien's nod of acknowledgment before leaving the Lab, the door sliding shut behind him.

Darien stood near the glass panel and watched as Claire went through the routine of checking over and then patching up the various injuries she encountered. She hooked the girl up to some monitors and then took a blood sample to test. "Claire?"

Claire looked at him as she passed, carrying the blood sample to the centrifuge. "Not sure yet, Darien. Some things are a bit odd." She noticed Alex, then. "Alex, hello. What are you doing here?"

"Curiosity," Alex answered. "Well, Fawkes, care to explain?"

Darien shrugged. "Not much to tell. Her car came out of nowhere, being chased by a couple of others. After she crashed and crawled out, she asked us for help. Should we have said 'no' and walked away?" Alex didn't really need the details, not now, and what he said seemed to satisfy her.

"Do you know who was chasing her?" Alex was looking over at the girl with an odd expression on her face.

"Dark suits, nice cars. Not cops, that's for sure." Darien was also staring at the girl. There was just something about her. She was tiny all the way around, with flaming red hair and pale skin. Like she hadn't seen sunlight in a while. She was barefoot and wearing what looked like an institutional jumpsuit. Similar to jail garb, but in a plain blue instead of the orange the jails used around here. It even had a number stamped on it, but he couldn't make it out from this angle. She was bruised and battered and looking rather pitiful at the moment. He found himself oddly drawn to her and he wasn't sure why.

Claire, who was leaning over a microscope, gasped. "This can't be."

"Claire? What's wrong?" Darien turned to look at he. She shook her head and rubbed her eyes before leaning back over the microscope.

"Her blood is saturated with quicksilver, at levels even higher than you maintain, Darien." Claire sounded confused more than anything.

"That's not possible. There's only one other gland out there." Alex spun about and moved closer to the lab bench.

"That we know of," Darien reminded her. "We didn't know Arnaud had one till he told us."

"I need to take some X-rays," Claire muttered. "This makes no sense."

"Like that's anything new." Darien shook his head and looked back over at the sleeping child. As usual, things were getting weird.

Darien was dozing in the chair he was sprawled in, waiting for news from the Keep. Good thing the poor kid was out cold -- Claire had run her through the ringer, doing every test she could think of, before putting her in the padded room with a pillow and blanket to sleep the rest of the tranquilizer off. The Official was not looking very happy, arguing with Eberts about some error in the budget or some such trivial item. Darien had lost track of the conversation.

Hobbes was pacing with a cell phone to his ear, trying to track down who was in those sedans, it wasn't easy. The cars had been unmarked right down to the lack of license plates. They could belong to almost any government, or even private, agency. All they really had to go on was the name Corvan and the girl. Alex had offered to help as well and had made a few calls of her own. She, however, was working in her office. Darien was debating asking if he could crash on her couch, since it didn't look like he was going to be heading home anytime soon, when Claire walked into the office wearing a frown.

Hobbes' phone snapped shut. "Claire, what's the good word?"

Darien didn't move, but was no longer vaguely sleepy.

"Yes, Doctor, how is our unexpected guest?" The Official had made it plain that he was not happy with the situation at all, but had admitted that, given the way the incident had played out, there was nothing else they could have done.

"Sir, that's a good question. She's alive, but near as I can tell she shouldn't be." Claire lowered herself into one of the seats around the conference table, looking exhausted.

"Umm, huh?" Darien asked, opening his eyes and locking them on hers. Admittedly not the most brilliant of questions, but it would suffice.

"Her system is flooded with quicksilver, yet she has no artificial gland like Darien. At least, not that I could find. Her pineal gland is enlarged, however, though I've no idea as to why. Her brain wave and neurotransmitter function is off the scale in comparison to a normal human. Based on preliminary tests, her entire lymphatic and glandular system has been altered somehow." She paused and took in a deep breath.

"Okay, I'll bite. How?" Hobbes pushed away from the wall and moved to lean on the table.

Claire shrugged. "As near as I can tell, she has been genetically altered, though how, I have no idea."

"Could she be a Chrysalis kid?" Darien wondered aloud just as Alex came into the room.

"Not likely," Alex answered as she set a file down on the table.

"And why is that, Miss Monroe?" the Official asked.

"Because I ran her DNA and fingerprints through a few databases and found a match." She opened the file and turned it so they could see the info and picture inside.

"Michele MacTierney, born in..." Hobbes trailed off. "That can't be right. She's just a kid." But the photo, though a crappy student ID shot, was unmistakably her. "Why does this not make her a Chrysalii kid?"

"Hobbes, she's wasn't in one of their camps if she went to college. They tend to keep a tight rein on their experiments." Darien caught the look in Monroe's eyes, that slightly haunted shadow over her features. "Sorry, Alex."

She waved her hand. "I know what you meant. And while I agree with you, I just have the odd feeling she's not one of theirs."

"Doctor..." the Official began only to be interrupted when the door was swung open.

"We have a problem with the prisoner," a generic agent said.

"Prisoner? Idiot! She wasn't supposed to be locked in there." Claire got to her feet and rushed to the door with everyone following her.

The suit ran after them. "She's gone. Fawkes must have snuck in and quicksilvered her."

"Hello? I'm right here," Darien pointed out and was amused to see the look of utter confusion on the man's face.

"I watched her quicksilver. I figured you had to have done it," he said without apology. It wasn't like Fawkes hadn't broken people out of the padded room, or pulled invisible pranks, before.

"De Fohn?" Eberts asked, slightly out of breath from the hurried pace.

"Nah, he can't do other objects," Darien answered absentmindedly. When he realized they were taking that like the bombshell it wasn't supposed to be, he added, "When I lost my memory. He pretended to be Kevin..." When that still rang no visible bells he continued. "We... we talked. He told me some things. You know I could have sworn I put all that in my report. Does this mean you don't actually read them?"

The Official cleared his throat. "So it's not de Fohn. Then how?"

They all stopped in the hall outside the padded room. Two agents were leaning on the door which was being beaten on hard enough to shift it. "We think we trapped them inside. I'm gonna kill Fawkes for this." Then he noticed Darien standing there and snapped his mouth shut on whatever commentary was coming next.

"Come on," Claire said, going into the viewing room. "She may be doing it herself."

"You mean she can go see-thru like the gland man here?" Hobbes was more than a little disbelieving.

"At a guess, yes," Alex said in the driest tone she could manage. "Where is she hiding?"

Darien wondered as well. There wasn't much to see in the room. Somehow she had ripped open the heavy canvas material of the padded walls and there was fluff and stuffing everywhere. "There." Darien pointed. You could just make out where she was as the stuffing would settle on and then slide off her moving figure. As he watched, she mounted another charge at the door, hitting it with a solid thunk that rattled the glass in the window before them.

Claire switched on the microphone. "If you will calm down, we'll let you out."

The Official shook his head to disagree, but she shot a look at him that kept him quiet.

"Let me out!" she screamed, from inside the room. It quickly became a plea. "You said you'd help me, Darien. Not imprison me."

Darien winced, feeling guilty. He leaned over the mic. "It's a misunderstanding. I'll be right in." He turned to the others and saw that they wanted to tell him no, but they probably also knew he wouldn't listen. "You gonna stop me?"

Claire shook her head. "Not this time. Just be careful; I'm not entirely sure what she is." On those cryptic words, Darien left the viewing room and went to the door of the padded room. The guys there were still leaning against it in case she decided to make another attempt at playing battering ram. "Move it," Darien said with little patience. The guys just turned to glare at him. 

The Official stepped into the hall and barked "Do it." With that, the agents backed away, if a bit reluctantly, and allowed Darien pass.

Once inside with the door shut behind him, but not locked -- that he would have heard -- he looked through the still-flying fluff and didn't see her. Hoping that she'd 'glow' the way Arnaud had while they both were invisible, he quicksilvered his eyes and searched again. He found her standing in the far corner, out of sight of those it the viewing room. Her outline glowed with a pale blue aura, unlike Arnaud's darker purple. He moved, but only to sit on the padded bed in the middle of the room. Once seated, he wondered what to say. They'd rescued her from a nasty situation -- where, at a guess, she'd been kept against her will -- patched her up, and then locked her up again. It was little wonder she was reacting poorly.

"Look, this would go a bit easier if I could see you."

She snorted. "You already can, sort of." She shifted her weight back and forth on the balls of her feet, as if debating making a break for it. Instead, the quicksilver coating her flaked away and she looked at him with more than a little fear in her eyes.

Darien let his sight return to normal and looked her over carefully. Except for being conscious, she didn't really look any better. "I'm sorry. Claire just put you in here 'cause it's quiet. You weren't supposed to be locked in."

"And how do I know you aren't just some other group of wackos after me? It was awfully convenient you were there to provide a rescue." She began to pace along the wall, moving slowly, almost languorously, one hand trailing through the loose stuffing, causing more to drift gracefully towards the floor.

Darien sighed, nearly mesmerized by her slow movement. "You don't, I guess. Maybe we can help." 

She laughed then, quietly. "Thanks for the offer, but I doubt it. Now, if you don't mind, I'd like to leave."

She was nearly to the door and Darien wondered how she'd gotten there. He didn't remember turning to follow her movement, but he had. He was turned nearly completely around from his original position. "Hey, hold up a minute." He got to his feet and moved to stand between her and the door. "Give us a chance." At close range, he could see she was not nearly as well as she was pretending to be. She was shaking slightly and had dark circles under her eyes. "At the very least you need a couple days to recover. And you know it."

She just looked up at him for a long moment with those startling eyes of hers, then she relaxed and sighed. "All right, but one hint of anything hinky and I'm out of here."

Darien backed a step and opened the door, motioning for her to go first. In the hall, they were met by everyone and she immediately froze, the distrust obvious. "It's okay. They're the good guys."

She shook her head. "Or so you hope."

It took a couple hours to even begin to sort things out. Claire had checked her over again, asking a bunch of questions and getting a few answers. A lot of the time the girl simply said, "I don't know," in a tone that made it clear she really had no idea exactly what had been done to her or why.

Eventually, at some ungodly hour of the morning, they ended up in the Official's office trying to piece together anything that might explain where she had come from and who had been chasing her.

Alex had loaned the girl some sweats she kept around her office -- she sometimes went running in the afternoon -- and the kid had been so thankful to get out of that jumpsuit that Darien knew she'd been wearing it, or ones just like it, for a long time. She alternated between pacing nervously and standing in the corner of the room, watching everyone with a wariness that was eerily penetrating.

Darien couldn't help himself; he felt a connection to her. Hell, maybe it was only to be expected, she was as much a lab rat as he had been. He'd felt a similar connection to Thomas Walker until he'd found out the guy was really Gaither, and even then he was sympathetic to the man. He'd liked Thomas and feared Gaither, even as he needed him to, hopefully, remove the gland, and had been oddly moved at Gaither's attempt to help once his memories had returned, but with Thomas' conscience. It was too bad that Gaither felt the only way to redeem himself was to blow himself and the SWRB sky-high.

"Look, I don't know who they were, or where I was. I hadn't been outside in..." She stopped and turned to Darien. "What year is it?"

"Year? Uh, 2001. Why?" Darien did not like the way she went even paler than before and got to his feet. He got to her just in time, as her legs apparently decided not to hold her any more. He, with some help from Hobbes got her in a chair and he crouched beside her. "What?" When she just stared blankly forward he set a hand on her arm. "Talk to me. I said I'll help."

She blinked and met his gaze. "Three years? I lost three years?" That was it for her -- she closed her eyes and slumped in her seat, no longer interested in those about her.

Darien knew that look, had seen it on his own face, knew exactly what it felt like. That sudden, shocking realization that you're whole life, everything you knew and understood as normal, was gone. Ripped away, turned ass-over-teakettle, wiped off the face of the planet, just completely fricking gone. Oh yeah, he knew.

"What is the last thing you remember Miss..." Eberts began.

"Shut up, Eberts." The Official didn't yell, but the words were still effective in closing the lackey's mouth with a snap.

Claire spoke up. "I'll arrange a place for you to sleep in one of the labs."

The girl stiffened and opened her eyes, looking about a bit wildly. It was good bet she'd run in another minute, and if she quicksilvered there would be no one to stop her.

Darien patted her arm in what he hoped was a soothing manner. "It's all right, just relax for a minute. Okay?" She nodded tightly and he got to his feet. With a little head motion, he got everyone to move closer to the Official's desk for a semi-private conversation.

"What, Fawkes?" Hobbes supplied, to get this started.

"I don't think keeping her here is such a good idea." Darien knew exactly how that statement would go over and wasn't wrong. They all began to hand out reasons why she needed to remain here, all of which were valid, but still wrong. It was, surprisingly enough, Alex who came to his defense.

He watched as she glanced over at the girl, who had a death grip on the arms of the chair, and then turned back to their pow-wow. "Fawkes is right. She's just going to feel trapped here. She can stay at my place, if she'd like."

There was a long moment of silence. The fact that Alex had agreed with Darien stunned everyone and making them unsure what to say.

"Or my place. No offense, Alex, but she probably trusts you less than me, and I know she doesn't trust me at all." Alex gave him a slight nod to acknowledge both the truth of his statement and his heavily disguised thanks for backing him up.

"Doctor?" The Official wanted her input.

"She's stable and, even though I have no idea what she is, she appears to be healthy. I have no medical concerns about her leaving." Claire made it plain by her tone that she was uneasy about letting the girl out of her sight, but since she could not justify the feeling with facts, she had taken the middle road with her answer.

"If it's security you're worried about, you can put some agents watching my place. Anyhow, it's not like those guys knew who we were. We didn't exactly have time for deep meaningful conversation with them." Darien hated being watched, but if it helped the kid, he'd do it. It wouldn't be the first time he'd dealt with a little discomfort to get through a bad situation. It was the fact that it happened so often that didn't thrill him all that much.

"All, right." The Official agreed. He rubbed his eyes, just as tired as the rest of them. "All of you get some sleep. I want to see you all back here by one o'clock this afternoon." The Official was being generous, actually giving them enough time to get a solid four hours of sleep, if they were lucky.

Darien was about to go back to the girl and tell her what was going on when Alex stopped him with a hand on his arm. "Yeah?"

"Are you going straight to your place?" she asked, her eyes flicking to the girl and back to him.

"As far as I know, why?" Darien had no idea what she wanted.

"Fawkes, somehow I don't think you have anything she might need." When he stared at her blankly, she sighed. "Clothes, Fawkes, toiletries...hell, underwear. You gonna share your boxers with her?" The attitude was back, but for a change, Darien knew he deserved it. He hadn't exactly thought things out.

"Crap."

Alex actually chuckled softly. "Go get her something to eat. I'm sure there's a fast food place open somewhere between here and your place. I'll stop by in an hour with some clothes and stuff. She's close enough to my size that it'll do till we can get her to a mall."

Darien nodded. "Thanks, Alex. I guess I wasn't thinking."

She shook her head. "Sure you were, but with your heart and not your head, as usual." She moved towards the door. "One hour. Don't be late; I want to get some sleep tonight."

Hobbes was standing next to the girl and talking to her softly. She seemed only slightly uncomfortable about the situation. When Darien joined them, Hobbes looked up at him. "Problem?" Darien asked.

"Nah, just small talk," Hobbes answered. "Right, kid?"

"Right, H...H..."

"Bobby, kid. Call me Bobby." Given how gruff Hobbes usually was, he was sure toning it down with her.

She nodded, but didn't say anything.

Hobbes drew Darien aside. "Be careful, Fawkes. She may look like a kid, but if that info is right, she ain't."

"Hobbes, until I know otherwise, I'm taking her at face value." He glanced over at her. "And right now she's a scared kid who isn't sure of her own name."

Hobbes nodded slowly. "No reason not to be careful as well." He stepped away. "I'll talk to you later, Fawkes. Trust him, kid. He's one of the good guys." Hobbes left then, presumably headed for home and his own bed. Claire had already left, and Eberts and the 'Fish had stepped out of the office, leaving the two of them alone.

"Have I fallen into some old western? Good guys. Bad guys. Will the cavalry be arriving soon?" She tried to laugh, but it came out with more than a touch of hysteria.

"Some days I wonder that myself." Darien moved over to her side and held out his hand. "Let's get you something to eat, and then I'll show you my place. Okay?"

With only a second's hesitation, she placed a hand in his, causing a small shock. "Sorry," she muttered. "Still can't control that sometimes."

Darien had hissed in surprise at the mini-jolt, but didn't ask. He wasn't sure he wanted to know the answer right now. He was already betting that, tired as he was, he was still going to have a hard time sleeping tonight.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


	2. Part 2

Part 2

The apartment was dim in the pre-dawn darkness, but it was anything but quiet. Darien was sitting in his brown swivel chair, watching the girl toss restlessly in her sleep as whatever images chased through her mind forced her into movement as she lay beneath the covers on his bed. She hadn't even been asleep for an hour when this began, so instead of crashing on the sofa as he had planned, Darien had dragged the chair over next to the bed to keep an eye on her.

He had more than a passing acquaintance with unpleasant dreams. He'd lost count of how many times he'd dreamt of Kevin's death, or of being captured and injured by any of a number of foes. Or, the most common one, of killing Hobbes. Even after all these months, he still would occasionally dream about killing his partner -- fingers wrapped tightly about his throat, a strange euphoria in his mind, a welcome glee in is heart. He hated those dreams and always woke up covered in sweat, wanting to call Hobbes to make sure he was okay. Hobbes was his partner, his friend, almost like a brother to him, and yet he kept dreaming about killing him. He simply wanted to understand why.

On the bed, the girl rolled onto her back and made an inarticulate cry that pulled at him. Alex was right -- he'd been thinking with his heart. All sympathy for her and her situation and not thinking things through, but it had worked out okay. They'd been at his place by the time Alex showed. The girl had asked, in a tentative voice, if she could use his shower, and she'd still been in there when he let Alex in. By the looks of the stuff she carried, she'd hit a twenty-four-hour Target as well as raiding her own closet for the girl. She'd had everything from undergarments to comb, hairbrush and toothbrush. She'd even picked up some socks and sneakers that she'd guesstimated the size of.

The clothes were ones Darien had never seen Monroe wear. Simple, basic jeans and T-shirts, several days' worth. They had obviously been worn, but were still in excellent condition. When Darien thanked her, Alex had shrugged and said, "Leftovers from another life."  It left Darien curious, but he refrained from asking at the look she gave him. He knew she wasn't quite ready to get that close to any of them yet, but she was getting there.

When the girl had come out of the bathroom, wrapped in a towel and looking bemused, she very nearly freaked at the sight of Alex. It was the first time he'd seen her quicksilver. One second she'd been there and the next, gone. Darien had quietly explained why Alex was there, and she had reappeared a minute later over by the sofa. Once she had calmed, she and Alex went through the items and tried on a few pieces to get and idea of how close Alex had come, size-wise.

Turned out to be pretty darn close, the biggest problem being that the girl was very underweight, so while it was a good bet the items would have fit normally, they were more than a little loose at the moment. But the two of them agreed they would do for now. The girl had a hard time containing her sheer joy at being able to wear real clothes again, ill-fitting as they were. By the time an hour had passed, the kid was yawning like crazy and Alex took that as her cue to leave. The girl had thanked her a bit shyly; Alex smiled, a real honest-to-goodness smile, and left with the reminder to Darien that he did have to be back at work later.

It was the girl who had realized she didn't have anything pajama-like, so Darien had supplied one of his many mismatched pajama tops for her to wear. She'd promptly taken over the bathroom again, though not for nearly as long. She'd come out looking tiny in his shirt, smiling at the length of the sleeves that she flapped at him before rolling them up. Her hair was pulled back in a tight braid to control the curls, which even then had been trying to break free. Her teeth were brushed and her mood was fairly relaxed. They'd had a small argument about where she would sleep, which he'd won simply because she'd started yawning again.

Sleep that was now doing her no good at all. She jerked upright, her hand to her mouth to cut off a scream, as every loose item in the room suddenly jumped. Darien was at her side in an instant, trying not to think about the fact that he apparently had one impressive ghost in his house. At first she tried to fight him, not completely awake, but he kept his hold upon her firm until she reconnected with reality.

"D...D...Darien?" she asked in a tiny, frightened voice.

"Yeah, just me." He let go of her, but she didn't move, leaning against him shaking in reaction to her sudden wakefulness. "You... Do you want to talk about it?"

She shuddered in response and pulled away. "No. Sorry to wake you." She huddled in on herself, her head tipped down, and Darien was unsure what to do for her. "'Chele." Her voice was so soft he wasn't sure if she had spoken or not.

"Huh? What did you say?" Gently he reached out and tipped her head up so that he could look her in the eye. For a moment he forgot anything else. Her eyes almost glowed in the darkened room.

"'Chele. It's one of the few things I really remember. I tried to hold on to who I was, but...." She trailed off, probably not wanting to remember whatever it was that had been done to her, at a guess. "My brother used to call me 'Chele."

'Chele? At a guess it might be short for Michele, but that would imply that she was indeed the much older woman from the information that Alex had turned up. Which made no sense, unless... "Did you say you don't remember some stuff?"

"Uh-huh. Just bits and pieces. I can remember the day I was grabbed perfectly, for some reason. I can remember my parents dying when I was a kid. A few other random things like that." She flicked her eyes back and forth as he continued to hold her face and watch her. "Why?"

"Not important." Darien released her, with more reluctance than he should have felt. "You need to sleep." He started to get up, but she stopped him with a hand over his.

"I...I don't want to be alone. Stay, please." She seemed so sad, so scared, that against his better judgment Darien found himself nodding.

"Just till you're asleep, though."

"Thank you." At his urging, she lay back down on her side with the covers pulled up to her chin. Darien lay atop the covers and curled up against her, his chin resting on the top of her head.

"Darien?"

"Yeah, 'Chele?"

"I can trust you, right? Really trust you?" She was sounding both serious and sleepy, which was an odd combination to his ears.

"Yes, you can. Now go to sleep. We can talk more tomorrow...umm, later today." He was feeling pretty damn exhausted by this point, and now that he was horizontal with a warm body to lie with, the pull of sleep was becoming an inevitable one. "Okay?"

Her answer was a sleepy sigh. She'd already fallen back into slumber. Even knowing he was supposed to get up and move to the sofa, he found himself unable to. 'She could wake up again,' he told himself as he drifted off. Besides, this was an awfully nice way to fall asleep.

"Why am I here?" Darien slouched down on the leather couch in Alex's office and tried not to yawn. Hobbes showing up at his door before noon had not been appreciated. 'Chele had still been sound asleep, the way Darien wanted to be, but no. Hobbes had apparently been awake for a couple of hours, tracking down information about her, and decided that it couldn't wait one minute longer. At least he'd brought brunch: coffee, bagels, and cream cheese. It had been a start, anyway. Grumbling in irritation, he'd headed to the shower and rushed through his routine in order to be out when 'Chele woke up. He hadn't quite made it.

He'd come out of the bathroom half-dressed to find Bobby standing in front of the door, looking around at an empty room. Darien had only found her by quicksilvering his eyes; she'd managed to get herself under the pool table and refused to come out. Just huddled there, quaking in fear. When he glanced over at Bobby, who continued to guard the door, he'd shrugged.

"She woke up and I said good morning. She freaked." He paused, a slight smile crossing his features. "It's weird seeing someone besides you do the saran wrap thing."

Darien had to agree. Weird when they'd seen Arnaud do it, but even weirder seeing this young girl do it. He'd realized then that they didn't know if 'Chele suffered side effects, like quicksilver madness.

"Crap," he'd muttered. "'Chele, I swear it's okay."

It had taken a moment, but she'd dropped the quicksilver and then crawled out from under the pool table. After a moment's hesitation, she'd flung herself at him. It had surprised Darien nearly as much as it had Hobbes, who frowned slightly. Darien knew there was going to be a 'talk' later, one that was sure to involve fishing and piers, but he hadn't bothered to worry about it then, just got her calmed down and talked her into going to get dressed.

When she'd gotten to her feet, she'd turned to Bobby. Meeting his eyes for all of a second, she'd mumbled, "Sorry," before bolting to the bathroom.

Darien had gotten to his feet and finished dressing, doing his best to ignore the comments he knew were sure to be coming from Bobby. "Later, Hobbes. Once I'm conscious."

"You better be careful, my friend. I have a funny feeling about her." Hobbes had moved away from the door and into the kitchen, where he sipped at one of the coffees.

"Me too," Darien had said, glancing at the closed bathroom door. "I'm just not sure what it means."

"Fawkes, we got some leads and thought you might like to know what was going on." Alex answered as she typed at the computer. "We traced the car she'd been driving. It was reported stolen from a farm southeast of the city yesterday morning."

"And? We kinda figured it wasn't hers." After some of the things 'Chele had said, it was pretty obvious she'd made some sort of escape from wherever she had been, and then been tracked down somehow.

"Crap."

"What, Fawkes?" Hobbes asked from where he sat next to Alex, looking over the information on the computer screen.

"They tracked her. She must have..."

Alex cut him off. "We found it sewn into the lining of the jump suit and deactivated it. We found a few other things, as well; Eberts is checking them out." She turned to look at Darien, who was still tired enough to not quite keep up with what was going on, especially when he had yet to be given all the information they had. "We think it's a data chip, perhaps for ID purposes, which suggests there may be more like her out there."

"That's not good." Darien got to his feet, finally deciding he'd better take a real interest in things. Snagging a chair, he moved it over by the computer and sat down. "Just tell me what we do know."

"Not enough. And little that makes sense," Hobbes answered honestly.

"All right. I looked a bit further into Michele MacTierney. Her parents were well-known research scientists back in the sixties and early seventies, worked for the government at one time, but I can't find out on what project. The files are beyond sealed," Alex explained as she pulled up the information. "I got access to some medical and school records. Smart kid, started high school at age twelve. Her medical records disappear about that time, completely. Her parents died when she was sixteen, a car wreck that she witnessed. She finished college at twenty and then she vanishes."

"Any other family that we could maybe talk to?" Darien asked, knowing they had probably already thought of that.

"Couple of older brothers. We're trying to track them down." Hobbes rubbed one hand across the top of his head. "I want to know how she got loose."

"Could she really be this Michele?" Darien asked them. Admittedly he hadn't known 'Chele for long, but she certainly didn't come across as a mature woman pretending to be a scared kid. She *was* a scared kid.

Alex shrugged. "The fingerprints matched, as does some of the medical information, but it might, and I stress might, be a plant to throw us off."

Darien had a truly odd thought then, but after the last couple of years and all the truly weird stuff he'd seen and done, it was no more farfetched than anything else. "Could 'Chele be a clone of that Michele?"

"I don't know." Alex looked more than a bit uncomfortable at the thought. "Though that could explain the age discrepancy. That would be something to have Claire look into."

"No need," Claire said from the doorway. Standing next to her was 'Chele, who was shaking like a leaf in a Santa Ana wind. "She's not a clone, though she's not exactly herself anymore, either."

Darien got to his feet and started to move towards the two at the door. 'Chele glanced back at Claire, who gave a slight nod, and then bolted for Darien. "Whoa. Easy. It's okay." Looking at Claire even as he wrapped his arms about the girl, he silently asked what was going on.

Claire moved into the room and sat down in one of the chairs before Alex's desk. "Those medical records you got me were very helpful, thank you Alex."

"Not a problem." The curiosity in her voice was obvious, but she held her tongue, waiting for Claire to find the right words.

Bobby wasn't that patient. "Spill, Keepy. What's with the kid?"

"That would be the first thing. She's no child, even though her appearance and many of the test results indicate otherwise." She rubbed her nose and sighed. "Near as I can tell, her body clock was reset and the actual aging that had been done was reversed. Some test results came back with the older age, some the younger. And no, I have no idea how they did it."

Darien was stunned. This girl, this child that was shaking in his arms, was actually a grown woman older than he was? He found that very hard to believe, but at the same time he knew Claire wouldn't make a mistake like that. If that was the way the results came back, then it was true. "Then why does she think she's a child? The memory loss?"

Bobby and Alex may have looked confused by that revelation, but Claire didn't. "Most likely. They may have even intentionally altered parts of her memory so that even she believes she's only a teen."

"Okay Keep, you got me. Why?" Bobby was looking at Darien and the kid who was cautiously peeking out around Fawkes to look at the rest of them.

"Control, Bobby," Alex said, with anger in her voice. "Children can be convinced of anything. Chrysalis should have taught you that."

"But she was still an adult; some of 'her' should have remained," Bobby argued.

"Not if her memory was wiped. You know it can be done, Bobby. You had virtually the same training I did. You damn well know what can be done with reprogramming techniques," Alex snapped at him, making 'Chele flinch in Darien's hold.

Bobby opened his mouth to say something in response, but a quiet voice stopped him.

"I remember some things. They're just a bit muddled as to when they happened. In the memories I always feel young, so I am young." She looked over at Claire. "Does that make any sense?"

"Perfectly," Claire said with a nod. "You had no way of knowing otherwise."

"I'll tell you everything I can, but I don't know that it will do you much good." She stepped away from Darien, looking a bit more confident than before.

"Anything you can tell us will help," the Official said from the doorway.

'Chele let out a squeak of fright and began to disappear, the quicksilver flowing across her in reaction. Darien reached out and grabbed her arm before she vanished completely. "Stop it. You're safe here."

Somehow she did -- the quicksilver flaked away before she actually vanished. It was an interesting effect, which Darien had no idea how to duplicate. "Sorry," she muttered. "I...I...They used to punish me a lot." she admitted, with obvious reluctance.

"That won't happen here," the Official assured her as he came into the room and sat down in one of the chairs. Eberts followed him, almost like an eager puppy, with several files in his hands.

"Eberts..."

"Miss..." he began tentatively.

"'Chele will do. It's more than I've been called in years." Her voice only shook slightly.

Eberts nodded in acknowledgment. "'Chele, do you have any idea where you were being held?"

She shook her head. "None. I was never allowed outside at the lab, or near a window."

"How did you escape, then?" Hobbes asked, not caring about what Eberts was going to say next.

"They were transporting me for a... a... job. They must have given me the wrong tranq." When they looked at her blankly, she added. "I build up a tolerance pretty quick. Three or four uses of the same drug in a row and it doesn't really work anymore. I woke up in the transport vehicle and took my chance to escape."

"They didn't have thermals?" Hobbes asked.

"Of course, but they were unconscious by then." 'Chele answered, as if it should have been obvious.

"Bobby, quicksilvering isn't the only thing she can do. In fact, it's one of her more minor talents," Claire said to the room, stunning most of them. "You can tell them."

"Its easier to show them." 'Chele looked up at Darien for a moment, then closed her eyes. As he watched, she began to control her breathing, using a technique he recognized. Her eyes snapped open and every large item in the room lifted into the air.

The commentary was amusing. Shock and surprise were being expressed, from everyone but Darien. It was weird, like he had expected something like this. The items hung in the air, unmoving, then lowered to the floor without incident. Then she moved on to her next trick.

*_Most often they use me to read other's minds.* It was her voice in his head, but her lips weren't moving._

Bobby jerked upright. "Shit. Warn a guy next time."

"Interesting talent," Alex said, sounding impressed.

"Very interesting, indeed," the Official agreed. "Anything else you can do?"

"A few things." As she held her hands about a foot apart, they watched a spark jump from one had to another. "I can sense, control, and use electricity for lots of stuff. The room they kept me in was moved onto its own power when they figured out I could trace the power lines in the building and muck with both the power and the phone system. Just about anything that has energy I can 'feel', I guess." she sighed. "It's not easy to explain."

"I don't imagine it is," Darien agreed, watching her carefully. He couldn't comprehend what must have been done to her, what she must have gone through to end up this way, with these... these abilities. "So what now? I doubt they are going to stop looking for her."

'Chele moved over to Claire, looking both nervous and hopeful. "Can you fix me? Make me normal again?"

Claire shook her head in apology. "'Chele, I can't, this was done to you years ago. You were, somehow, genetically altered and even if I found a way to inhibit your abilities, it might very well kill you."

'Chele's face fell. Like her last hope was taken away. Darien knew that look. Lived with that look. Saw that look in his bathroom mirror every morning. "Oh." Was all that came out of her mouth, then she looked about the room without seeing anything for a minute or two.

Even knowing, in some small way who she really was, she still reacted like that young girl she appeared to be and Darien hurt for her. Reminding him of Adam when he realized who and what he truly was. In the end the kid had been damn brave, braver in some way than Darien himself, and gone into that cryo-pod of his own free will. Sacrificing the remainder of his youth, and possibly his life, for the rest of the world. Darien didn't really want to go through that again.

"Claire, what about counteragent?" Darien stuffed his hands in his pockets, watching as 'Chele walked over to the windows and leaned against the glass. She stared sightlessly out at the road below.

"Darien you shouldn't be due for a shot yet, even after yesterday." Claire had gone into that 'you've been a bad boy' tone that annoyed the hell out of him.

"Not me. Her." He pointed at 'Chele with his chin.

"She doesn't need it." Claire answered. "She produces the quicksilver naturally." She raised a hand to forestall the question she knew was coming. "I have no idea how at this point, so don't bother asking."

"I should go." 'Chele said quietly. "There's nothing you can do for me, and they'll be coming after me. I'll just cause you trouble."

"Miss, you are welcome to stay. If you're willing, we may be able to work something out." The Official had gotten to his feet and moved a few steps closer to her.

She turned about and looked up at him with more than a little fear in her eyes. "What do you mean? I have no interest in becoming a trained pet again. Locked away when not needed, punished when bad, not knowing who I was, who I am." She gained confidence with each word. "I won't go back to that."

"'Chele, I think he wants to work an exchange. You help us and we help you," Alex answered, surprising Darien with the unexpected kindness in her voice.

"Yeah, kid. Your talent could be very useful 'round here, and we might be able to track down your family for you. Find out what happened to you. Keep those mooks from getting their hands on you." Hobbes added, also toning down his usual gruffness. It seemed to be working.

"How? How can I help?" 'Chele sounded curious, the fear receding to the background.

Eberts opened his mouth, but the Official intervened before the longwinded answer that was about to emerge could begin. "Later. Right now, I want to get you out of sight." When she stiffened, he amended his statement. "Give us a week to get you safe, then we'll worry about arrangements."

She thought about that, then nodded.

Darien guessed that there might already be questions about her being asked of the Official and that he wanted that layer of plausible deniability. If she wasn't here, he wouldn't have to lie about it, and if the excrement hit the rotating blades, she wouldn't be here to find. Darien was willing to bet he was going to move her to the safe house for a few days.

"I'm going to set you up at our safe house," the Official said, echoing Darien's thoughts. "But first we need some information from you."

She turned to look back out the window for a few minutes while she considered. When she turned back, she'd come to a decision. "What do you need to know?"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


	3. Part 3

Part 3

The sun was setting somewhere off to Darien's left, turning the sky various shades of orange and pink, tinting towards indigo off to the right behind the trees. He was sitting in the beat-up old rocking chair on the small porch outside the safe house; the same safe house the SWRB had tracked them to only a few hours after moving Gaither there. It made him wonder how safe the place really was. This was his second trip up here to bring 'Chele news and just spend some time with her. He was finding himself a bit confused.

He was trying to surreptitiously watch her over the top of the magazine he was pretending to read, but wasn't sure how successful he was being. The two agents that had been staying with her were inside, arguing over the correct way to layer the ingredients for lasagna. Not the typical type of argument one would have expected from two professional agents. Both men were fiercely protective of the girl, even after knowing her only a short time.

'Not a girl,' Darien reminded himself for the hundredth -- thousandth -- time. She was a grown woman trapped in the body of her teenage self. Her memories, her past, locked away from her, making her seem young, naive, innocent. She was anything but.

Over the last week, she had patiently told a tape recorder everything she could remember about herself and what she'd been through in the last three years, as well as answering specific questions that were sent to her. Every evening either Alex, Bobby, or Darien would stop by for a couple of hours to talk to her and pick up that day's tapes. It was amazing how detailed some of the information was, though it became horrifying when you realized exactly what she'd been made to do. Eberts had even been able to corroborate some of the details, though his intel made no specific mention of her.

Most of the time she had been used for interrogation purposes, reading the minds of those who had resisted other types of persuasion to give up the information that was required from them. She never even saw those she was reading, having been kept blindfolded. She didn't need to see those she read. She could feel them, or could do it through touch. Other times she had 'eavesdropped' on high-level meetings, feeding the information she pulled from the targets' minds to others, who would then use it to sway them to the correct path.

She even claimed to have been used for the of assassinations of two men. Both of them were indeed dead, and by the same method -- electrocution. Before, there had never been any reason to connect the two deaths, and now their admitted killer -- unwitting as she may have been -- stood on the grass before him doing yoga, which she claimed was part of her training. As he looked on, she released the painful-looking pose she'd been holding and flopped back onto the grass with a sigh.

He lowered the magazine and smiled. She took such joy in so simple a thing as staring up at the heavens to watch the first stars appear in the night sky. Getting to his feet he strode softly across the carpet of grass over to where she lay and gazed down at her. Her stay here had made quite a difference. She was no longer pale and wan, and had even begun getting some real color from sitting in the sun during the day. She'd looked fragile before, like a porcelain doll, and now... now she was lovely.

"Hey, oh tall one," she grinned up at him.

"Hey yourself, oh small one," Darien countered before squatting down next to her. "What is it you see up there, anyway?"

She sighed. "Space. Lots of space." Quick as a cat, she sat up. "Something you learn to appreciate when you don't get much."

Darien nodded absentmindedly, remembering how he'd felt every time he'd gotten out of prison. No more bars. No more gray walls. No more razor wire. Just space, freedom. He came back to himself when her hand came to rest on his forearm. He could feel the heat of her delicate touch even through the cotton of his shirt.

"You okay?" she asked him softly.

"Hmmm? Oh, yeah. Sure. Fine." She was on her knees before him. It would be so easy for him to reach out and caress her cheek, to run his hands through her hair, to kiss those sweet lips.

*_So what's stopping you?*_

It took him a second to realize she hadn't spoken aloud and another to realize she had, once again, picked up what he had been thinking. He cleared his throat, feeling embarrassed, and tried to move away. She stopped him with a light kiss, their lips just barely touching, the subtle scent of her in his nostrils, sending an unexpected thrill through him.

"'Chele, this isn't a good idea." Oh, how he wished he believed that. He'd been wanting to kiss her for days now, had spent the last several nights with images of her parading through his mind; the activities they'd been involved in had included plenty of kissing and not much in the way of clothing, and it wasn't always her lips he'd been teasing with his.

For a moment it looked like she was going to argue the point -- part of him hoped she would argue the point. Instead, she dropped first her eyes, then her head. "I... I understand. I'm sorry." She began to get to her feet, but he reached out and took one of her hands in his.

What happened next he was never quite sure of. There was a snap as she unintentionally shocked him. He jerked his hand away with a hiss and fell back to land on his ass with a grunt of pain. 'Chele collapsed, her hands going to her head and just lay on the ground moaning in pain. It took a couple seconds for Darien to get his act together and move to her side. He cradled her in his arms and she leaned against him, her eyes flicking about without really seeing anything.

"'Chele, What the heck was that?"

She blinked rapidly and came back to herself with a rush. She stared up at him in astonishment and....something else that he couldn't quite define. Something that was almost greed, or perhaps hunger, but it flitted by so fast he wasn't quite sure he'd even seen it.

"Darien?" She shook her head, trying to clear it. "Can you stay for dinner?"

He knew he should say no, should let her go, grab the tapes, and get out of there, but didn't want to. "You gonna zap me again?"

Her look became mischievous. "Only if you ask really nice." She squirmed out of his hold and got to her feet.

"'Chele..." he warned.

She shrugged. "I like you, Dare. More, I trust you. And you can't tell me you don't want to kiss me just as much as I want to kiss you." With that she turned and sashayed back to the house. At the door she paused and looked back at him, still sitting in the grass feeling stunned. He wasn't sure what the look meant, but her gaze was an almost physical caress that he reacted to with a burst of desire. Then she broke the contact and went inside, the door shutting with a solid thwack.

"Crap." Darien muttered into the darkness. "This is just perfect."

Walking into the Official's office three days later, Darien very nearly stopped dead in surprise to see Michele sitting in a chair, arguing good-naturedly with Eberts. As usual, he had been left out of the loop. He'd assumed she was still at the safe house with her two overprotective bodyguards, but obviously not. She must have come back with Alex last night; it had been her turn to spend the evening with the girl. Either they needed something from her that could only be done in person or they had deemed it safe enough for her to come back and try to put her life back together. They all knew whoever she had escaped from would not stop trying to find her -- they couldn't afford to.

Michele... she was astonishing. What she could do with the slightest effort of her mind was amazing and, as far as most of the world was concerned, impossible. Her tiny body contained a power that even Claire admitted she didn't understand, though she was slowly beginning to learn exactly what changes had been done to her.

That other chip they'd found in the lining of the jumpsuit had included a detailed breakdown of her DNA, along with basic information on height, weight, diet, training methods. It also detailed the best ways to control her, including the use of drugs and physical intimidation, and some rather severe beatings that had been used at one time. It was no wonder she'd been terrified of just about everyone at first.

She was still wary, but was much more at ease with just about everyone. Only Hobbes still seemed to frighten her, though that might only be because of his position. In her mind he was Corvan, the one who was in charge of controlling her, who would hunt her down if she tried to escape, who, while not her Keeper precisely, was the one who made sure she behaved and did as she was told.

The number stamped on her jumpsuit -- QSX053 -- meant nothing to her other than that was what she'd been called for the past three years. Her memory was so full of holes that she'd been lucky to remember that nickname from her childhood, but she was slowly putting her life and herself back together. There was still a lot for her to deal with, to get past -- hell, to relearn -- before she'd really feel free. Of course the Official, bless his greedy little heart, was more than willing to help her achieve her goals, in exchange for her helping him achieve his.

The Official had offered to give her an entirely new life, new name and everything, but she, still trying to deal with finding small parts of herself, had asked to have some time for that decision. She was still listed as a missing person in some databases; it wouldn't be too hard for her to make the disappearance complete and leave that life behind entirely. To start over again. On her own. Her own rules. Her own life. Well mostly her own life, supervised and protected by the Agency.

"You would be willing to assist us on cases?" Eberts was asking.

"I guess. It's not like I have any experience with this stuff. I was kept pretty isolated," 'Chele answered with some nervousness. "I'm pretty good with computers. Maybe...maybe I could help there?"

"Pretty good?" Eberts sounded like he was on cloud nine. "I'm a hack in comparison to you. You are a Mozart, nay a Beethoven of the keyboard." Whatever she had done must have impressed the hell out of Eberts; he was literally gushing his praise.

'Chele blushed almost as red as her hair. "It's not that hard for me."

"Eberts, down boy. You don't want to scare her do you?" Darien said as he moved across the room. He leaned against the wall and looked out the window for a moment before allowing his gaze to rest on her. "Morning."

"Hello, Dare," she said timidly, as if unsure of her reception.

Hobbes raised an eyebrow at Darien, and he knew his partner was wondering about the nickname. So was Darien, actually, but he didn't mind it. Kind of liked it, in fact. He pushed those kinds of thoughts away. After spending the evening with her the other night and her revelation about the way she felt about him, he'd come to a decision. A decision his sleeping mind apparently disagreed with, based on the dreams he'd had the last couple of nights, but he planned to stick with it. Her appearance, her carriage, and her mindset for the most part were that of a girl, a child who was not yet ready to deal with the sometimes overwhelming responsibilities that adults could face. For the last three years she'd been no more than a trained animal; she needed, and deserved, a chance to grow up. So he would be her friend and no more. No matter how difficult it would be.

"Anything for us today?" Darien asked of the Official, forcing himself to drag his eyes away from 'Chele and to the man who sat behind the desk and yanked at his leash.

"Yes. You and Hobbes have a small mission, Miss Monroe already has her assignment, and Miss... MacTierney will spend the morning with the Keeper and then assist Eberts with his work." He looked over all of them and ended with Michele. "We need to gauge where your talents lie."

Michele nodded tightly. It was a good bet she wanted no part of more tests from Claire, but knew she had to put up with it for now if the Keeper was to have any hope of understanding what had been done to her.

"We have secured a small apartment for you that should suffice for the time being. We'll have the paperwork you need to fill out within a day or two, if that is agreeable." It was obvious by both his tone and stance that Eberts had a soft spot for her, maybe was even a little sweet on her. It was understandable -- she was sweet. Even Hobbes tended to soften his tone and attitude around her, especially once he'd realized that he still scared her. She was warming to him, but slowly.

"Sure, Eberts. I mean, it's not like I have anywhere else to go, now is it?" She got to her feet and headed for the door, a false smile on her face, her carriage slumped as if she was exhausted. 

Darien watched her close the door, debating. Coming to a decision, he turned to Hobbes. "I'll be right back." He caught up with Michele just down the hall as she made her way to the Keep. "Hey, you. Wait up a sec."

She stopped and turned to look up at him. "What?" She still sounded unsure, as if she was expecting the worst, though he had no real idea why.

"I..." He wasn't sure what to say. "You okay?"

"Good enough. Look, I need to get downstairs. The...your Keeper is expecting me." She sidled away, refusing to meet his eyes

"'Chele, if I'm free, you want to get dinner tonight?" Not what he'd planned on saying, but it was good enough. He wanted to know why she was suddenly distant from him.

She shook her head. "No thanks. I have stuff to do. New apartment to set up and all. Alex is gonna help me get some things together." She moved off down the hall. "Besides, you made your position clear." She turned the corner before Darien had a chance to process what she had said.

He went after her again and cut in front of her to get her to stop. "What is that supposed to mean?" He searched her eyes, but she was doing her best to give him the perfect poker face.

"Exactly what I said. You don't need to pretend interest just because you feel sorry for me." She dropped her eyes and tried to get past him, but his hand on her shoulder was enough to hold her in place.

"If this is about Tuesday, I... I apologize. I like you too, but I think you should have a chance to figure out who you are before getting involved with someone like me." He tipped her head up forcing her to look him in the eye. "I'm not the exactly best person in the world."

She pushed his hand away and laughed. "You have no idea, Darien. None at all." She successfully maneuvered past him this time. "And last I checked, I was an adult and fully capable of making rational decisions. That's how I ended up here, remember." Then she was gone, through the double doors at the end of the hall.

Darien leaned back against the wall and tipped up his head to stare at the cracked plaster of the ceiling. "Well, that went just swell." Darien could only wonder what screw-up he would make next.

"Fawkes," Bobby called from down the hall and Darien turned his head slowly to look at him. "I warned ya she was trouble."

"Hobbes, in case you've forgotten, so am I." Darien pushed himself away and side by side they headed back to the Official's office to get their assignment.

"Haven't forgotten, my friend. She's different though." Hobbes paused. After another couple steps, Darien did as well and looked back over his shoulder at him. "Just be careful, Fawkes. That's all I ask."

Hobbes actually seemed concerned over this. "Not another 'company pier' lecture, please?"

"Not this time. You wouldn't listen anyway. Just... be careful." Hobbes patted Darien on the shoulder and left him standing there, thinking about what had been just said. Okay, so his record for listening to and taking advice wasn't exactly stellar, but what made Hobbes think he was at all interested in Michele 'that way'? He couldn't seem to recall saying or doing anything that would give his paranoid partner the slightest hint he was thinking about her as anything but someone he wanted to help.

"Fawkes, move it. We have work to do," Hobbes snapped, jerking Darien out of his musing.

"Yeah, all right." He trailed along, his mind still far more on other things than the here and now.

The images on the screen before him had his full attention. With the lights dimmed and sound adjusted just right... it was perfect. He'd been waiting for this chance, to watch this movie undisturbed, for a couple of weeks now, but the timing had never been there. Then he heard the knock on his door. "Aww man, not now." Apparently the timing to view this wasn't going to be tonight either. He paused the tape and got to his feet, grumbling under his breath.

"Hobbes, if this is some sort of a joke..." he began as he undid the locks and opened the door. Instead of Hobbes, he found Michele standing there. "Hey, small one. What brings you here?"

She glanced from him to the darkened room over his shoulder and blushed. "Sorry, didn't mean to interrupt anything." She began to back away, but Darien reached out and stopped her with a light hand on her arm.

"You're not. Just watching a movie." He slid his hand down her arm and grasped her wrist. "Want to join me?"

She seemed to think it over and then nodded. "If you don't mind."

If it had been Hobbes, he would have minded a hell of a lot, but it was 'Chele. Stepping out of the way, he watched as she cautiously went past him and into the dimly lit room that was his home. He shut and locked the door and turned about to see her leaning against the pool table, looking back at him over her shoulder. "Uh, want something to drink?" He looked over the contents of his fridge.

"I've got some soda, or maybe some juice."

"How about a beer?" She had moved next to him, examining the contents of the fridge for herself.

"Uh, a beer?"

"Yes, a beer." She shoved him out of the way and grabbed a bottle for herself. "Look, I don't know what the hell is going on with you. Not sure I care, but you can cut the big-brother over-protective act. I am not your kid sister. In fact, I have more than a few years on you. It would be nice if you started treating me like the adult I am." She twisted off the top of the bottle, flipped the cap neatly into a trashcan, and proceeded to drink at least half the bottle.

Darien picked up a bottle for himself to cover his embarrassment. That's exactly how he'd been treating her, like a younger sister. He had to, because if he allowed himself to see her as an adult, as a woman, as the beautiful, smart, surprisingly strong person that she really was, then his resolve would crumble. And when that happened, he might as well pick up a pair of hip waders, 'cause he'd be taking up a new hobby.

"Sorry, Michele. It's just easy to forget that." He moved out of the kitchen and over to the sofa. He picked up the remote and attempted to hit stop. It was looking like he wasn't going to get to see the movie after all.

"What are we watching?" He jumped. She was standing right beside him. He'd never even heard her move.

"Damn, you're quiet." Looking her over, he noticed she'd kicked off her shoes and was walking about barefoot. She did that a lot, he'd learned over the couple of weeks she'd been with the Agency. She claimed she was just used to it. Shoes were not something she'd been given to wearing at the place she'd been held. Being barefoot tended to discourage the urge to flee. "Uh, nothing that can't wait," he said in answer to her question.

"I am interrupting something. You should have said so. I'll go." She turned away, moving just as quietly away from him as she had towards.

"'Chele, you don't have to go. Company would be nice. I don't see much over here." Darien didn't move, wanted her to make up her own mind. Part of him wanted her too stay a bit too much. Her commentary was eating away at his resolve to keep his distance. Looking at her in the darkened room, she turned so that he saw her in profile. By the light of the frozen images on the television, he saw the woman that she had been, that she was slowly learning to be again. He realized that his foolish wish to allow her a normal youth was a pipe dream. She was mixed up with the Agency now. What was she going to do, go back to high school? Get a boyfriend? Go to the prom? "I'd like you to stay."

Darien wasn't sure what was going on behind those glorious eyes of hers, but he could once again feel that gaze move across him. Maybe she was picking up what he was feeling or thinking, again. Maybe she could sense his change of heart, the easing of his tightly held perspective of how he'd been seeing her.

Padding softly back to him, she spoke in a low voice. "Just treat me like a person, not an object. That's all I ask."

He nodded, not sure of his voice with her this close. With gentlemanly hand on her back -- he had learned a thing or two from Hobbes -- he got her seated on the sofa and started the tape again. It had taken weeks of searching to find a quality copy of this movie. In the end he'd had to contact some of his old associates to obtain it. He'd paid a bit more than he should, but it was worth it. It was an old favorite from when he was a kid and he'd even managed to wrangle a directors cut with about ten minutes of missing scenes. 'Chele stared in fascination as the opening credits began to roll.

"Buckaroo Banzai?" she asked, with complete disbelief in her voice.

"Don't you remember this flick? It's the greatest." Darien enthused, then, at the rather exasperated look on her face, realization struck making him want to hit himself. Of course she didn't remember. "Trust me, you'll get a kick out of it."

Shaking her head, she turned back to the screen and let the images imprint themselves on her mind. A few minutes later she set the empty beer bottle on the floor and shifted closer to him. Almost without thought, like it was just something that should be, he put an arm about her shoulders and pulled her closer.

They sat there through the entire movie. Occasionally she would ask a question that he would do his best to answer, but his mind was not fully on the movie. He was more than a little distracted by the warm, sweet-smelling body pressed up against his. The last few weeks had been a new experience for all of them. Darien now had some idea of what Hobbes had gone through when he'd found himself with a new and unusual partner dumped in his lap. Michele had been working with Eberts for the most part -- dealing with computers instead of people was easier for her. She had also helped Alex out on one fairly simply job that could only be described as a sneak-and-grab. He'd done more than a few of those himself since coming to work for the Agency. Go invisible, sneak in, grab the whatever-it-was-this-time, and get the hell out. She'd had no problems and Alex had given her high marks for her performance.

Then she'd been assigned to work a stake-out with him and Hobbes that had gone sour. They'd ended up being spotted and forced to beat a hasty retreat. Then Hobbes had taken a wrong turn in the van and they'd become trapped on a one lane back street with nowhere to go, a semi truck blocking the far end as it made its deliveries, and the bad guys had come up right behind them. That's when they found out you don't want to either scare or piss off Michele. She had no way of knowing how dangerous agents from Chrysalis were, and she might not have even cared. She had flung open the rear doors of then van, ignoring the shouts of protest from Hobbes and Darien.

They'd started shooting, not knowing who she was and not caring. Not a single bullet hit either her or the van -- they'd stopped dead in the air a good two feet in front of her. It had been effective in shocking the hell out of the Chrysalis agents, who changed tactics and rushed the van, intending to overpower the trio with sheer numbers. 'Chele had flattened them. No warning. No sign of what she was about to do. They were simply flung backwards as one to smash into walls or dumpsters, or just to land wherever they fell. Only about half got to their feet. She then lifted the nearest car and flipped it over to land on the roof of the one behind it, effectively eliminating their transportation. The ones conscious enough, or with brains enough, took off, deciding, correctly, that this was a bit more than they could handle at this time.

Once they were gone, 'Chele had stumbled back into the van and collapsed, complaining of headache. Just a headache. Hobbes had called for back-up, seeing as they were currently trapped between a semi truck that was going nowhere fast and two rather flat cars, and then went about securing the remaining Chrysalis agents who were still in nappy land. At least they'd have someone to interrogate for their troubles.

Darien had done what he could to help Michele. He'd dug an ice pack out of the first aid kit and set it on her forehead in hopes it might help. She'd mumbled something at him and then passed out from the pain.

"Oh, Darien." He focused back on the present to find her smiling at him. "The tape ended." She was right, the television was showing some animal show, which meant he'd left the cable box set on the Discovery channel again. He could hear the VCR whirring softly as the tape rewound.

"Sorry, I was thinking about some stuff."

"Deep thoughts, I take it. Anything I can help with?" She was kneeling on the sofa beside him. Her gaze capturing him. Her eyes seemed to glow in the dim light of the room.

He blinked breaking the contact. "Nah. It wasn't anything of importance."

"Oh." She got to her feet and walked around the sofa to retrieve her sneakers. "I guess I better be going then."

"Yeah, the boss probably wants us in bright and early, as always." He walked her to the door, proceeded to unlock it, then set his hand on the doorknob to open it, but she stopped him with her hand atop his.

"Dare, I'd like to stay." 'Chele said almost shyly.

"Sure, I'm not kicking you out. I don't mind hanging some more." She was so near that he had to draw in a breath and consciously keep himself from giving in to the temptation to touch her more than just casually.

She laughed lightly and shook her head. "No, Dare. I want to stay the night, with you."

Darien froze. "W... What did you say?"

"I said I wanted to spend the night with you. Is it that unusual a request?" She seemed to find his reaction more amusing than anything. "I find it hard to believe that you are celibate."

Darien almost choked on her words. Celibate? "Not by choice, that's for sure." His tone was wry. "Me and women... Well there hasn't been much luck in that area since the gland." That was putting it mildly. There was Kate Easton, who was now in witness protection with her fiance -- or husband if they'd done the deed. Allianora, who died because of him. Then there had been that little madness-induced incident with Claire. That didn't bear thinking about. Yeah, he liked her. He could admit to that, but there was no way in hell he'd let himself become what Charlie Fogarty foretold. 'Cause if he did, if he did let himself fall for the Keeper with a huge case of unrequited lust, then one day, when they were a little slow getting him his shot, he would do something. Something terrible, and there would be no forgive-and-forget afterwards. There would only be regret and then death, as they finally harvested the gland. So he had made a point to distance himself from her a bit after that. She'd tried to talk to him about what had happened, but he had avoided it like the plague, perhaps fearing what he would discover. Like maybe that it was too late already, that the Keeper had accomplished her task and made sure her Kept would be kept for all time.

But now he knew that wasn't true. He'd felt desire before, along with the need for comfort that Claire had inspired. Had felt pure lust, that only Allianora could quench, that sudden fire that you knew would consume you, but that had to be experienced. You had to feel the flames burning your skin in order to survive it. But this, what he felt when he looked at Michele, was that slow burn that left him aching inside and wanting more. Wanting to fan the banked coals into a roaring pyre and bask in the torrid heat. But more than that, he wanted to know her, who she was, who she wanted to become.

"'Chele, this isn't a good idea. People who get close to me have this awful tendency to get dead."

"Hobbes is still here, as are Alex and Claire. Why should I be any different?" she countered. "I'm tired of being alone, and I think you are as well."

"Ah, so it's convenience and nothing more. The two lab rats have a romp to satisfy mutual needs," Darien sneered. "I'd rather be horny and lonely."

"Dare..." She closed her eyes on his harsh words and took a deep breath to calm herself. "No that's not why." Then she touched him, her hand gently caressing his face.

For a long moment, he stood there in confusion, trying to interpret the information rushing through him. Emotions -- not his, but hers. Everything she felt about him, how she saw him, how much she cared even after so short a time, how much she wanted him. He came back to himself to find her wrapped in his arms and his lips crushed against hers. Releasing her, he took a step back, breathing hard. Not knowing what to say, he locked the door. There was no way he was going to let her leave. She wanted to stay, to be with him, was willing to take the implied risk of getting close to him.

"Chele..."

She stepped away from him, kicking off her shoes as she went, and Darien could only stand there leaning against the door and watch. She undid her hair from the braid that had been containing it and ran her hands through it until it fell loose and free down her back. Darien swallowed hard and followed her movements with hungry eyes. When she looked back at him over her shoulder, she smiled and then began to pull her shirt off, her hands drawing it slowly up her sides.

He was beside her in a flash, offering his assistance, his hands tracing across the warm flesh revealed once it had been tossed to the side, forgotten long before it hit the floor. He leaned in and captured her earlobe with his teeth, making her gasp aloud. "There's one thing you should know,"

"What?" Her hands were under his shirt, seeking and finding all the right places to send his heart rate soaring.

"This." The quicksilver came quickly, coating the two of them in its snug embrace. One of these days he was going to have to figure out a way around this. Maybe with practice, and a willing partner, he'd learn to control this side effect and keep it from happening.

"Oh, this is different." She laughed even as she peeled the T-shirt over his head and tossed it away.

"Sorry, can't help it." He lifted her and carried her over to the bed. Laying her down gently, he leaned over her, his pulse pounding, the adrenaline flowing, his heart aching with need.

"Dare, just kiss me, would you?" She pulled his head down, just in case he couldn't figure out what to do on his own.

His hands were busy trying to find the button to her jeans, without much luck. It was just as invisible as the rest of her. He felt her hands then, offering their assistance their fingers tangling together as she undid the series of buttons that was preventing him from reaching his goal. When the remainder of her clothes were gone, Darien swallowed hard, his imagination conjuring up all sorts of images of what she'd look like. He wanted to see her, to touch her flesh to flesh, to bury his hands in her hair and pull her close. To taste her skin.

"Damn it," he muttered.

*_You can do it if you really want to. Your control is more than good enough.* Her voice, her feelings, rolled through his mind, almost caressing him with her own desperate need to see him, to touch him, to drive the flames even higher._

"It's not that easy," he replied, finding her throat and biting gently, making her moan and throw her head back, baring herself to him.

*_If it were easy, what would be the point?*_

He lifted himself away from her slightly and closed his eyes, trying to figure out how to convince the gland to stop doing what it did without losing the desire, the ability to finish what they had started. He'd practiced so much at holding the quicksilver to avoid instances of 'involuntary visibility' that he had no idea how to do the opposite. Maybe if he focused part of his attention on something else. That old saw about going over baseball stats in one's mind wasn't a joke; it really worked, but he'd never been one for memorizing dry statistics. Methods for breaking into houses and safes, for disarming alarms and overriding security systems, that was more his style. Just to make it challenging, he tried to come up with the items in alphabetical order. Suddenly a voice intruded on his musings.

"Hello there. Ummm, maybe I should go?" Her voice was tinged with humor.

Darien's eyes flew open to see her lying beneath him, her flame colored hair spread out like a fan across the comforter, her eyes twinkling up at him. He looked lower and noticed the light dusting of quicksilver and freckles across her shoulders and... other places. He swallowed with difficulty, that barely-acquired control slipping already. The cold trickling of quicksilver ran down his spine as well as forward, following the curve of his neck to find and meet with other rivulets that gathered to drip off him and onto her. "Ah, c...crap." 

Her looked changed, becoming heated, hungry. Levering herself up, she kissed him lightly causing him to shudder and groan. Then lower, his chin, Adams' apple, the hollow of his throat where the quicksilver gathered. Licking at the spot, the cold and heat combining against skin to drive coherent thought from his mind. Gone was the issue of worrying about control; it just was.

With her hands helping, he got rid of the slacks, which felt far too confining anyway, and buried himself in her with a growl of need. The heat of their bodies, the sounds from their mouths, their throats, the sweat and quicksilver sliding between them, drove them both up and over that edge. That burning pyre flaring higher than he thought possible before dying back, not out, just giving off a steady heat instead of the inferno it had become for a long timeless moment.

Once he'd caught his breath and some strength had returned to his limbs, he rolled off her and played idly with a curl that he captured with one finger. Twining it about into an ever-tighter spiral. "'Chele." Her eyes were closed, her body relaxed, and he thought she might have fallen asleep.

She opened her eyes with a smile. "Yes, Dare?" One of her hands ran along the muscles of his chest and then lower across his stomach, then lower still, teasing him into a state of arousal yet again, before moving up across his hip. She licked her lips and looked up at him expectantly; he didn't disappoint.

This time, with the immediate needs dealt with, he was able to take his time. To be certain she was satisfied, sated, before easing his own needs. Concerns about tomorrow never once impinged themselves on his mind.

When sleep finally came, it was much like their first night together, with him curled about her, his chin resting on the top of her head, his arms holding her snugly against him. 'This is the way it should be', was his last coherent though before the sandman took notice of him and dragged him under.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


	4. Part 4 + Epilogue

Part 4

Darien's return to consciousness was less than pleasant. His head felt wrong, like it was stuffed with cotton. Big, white, puffy pieces of cotton that, like clouds, began to take on interesting shapes that at first he couldn't seem to recognize. After a moment, though, they resolved into the image of Michele. It was a bit distorted, but he could tell it was her. The eyes, the shape of her cheekbones -- when had he memorized the shape of her cheekbones? -- the hair flowing in the breeze that was blowing the clouds by. Then she called his name, in a sweet and seductive tone that made him want to melt, to follow her, as she began to drift away.

"'Chele," he called after her, as she moved too fast for him to keep up. The wind was blowing her away, yet somehow worked against him, keeping him in place. Yet she still called him. Though why she was shouting "Fawkes!" at him instead of calling him "Dare" he had no idea.

"Fawkes, damn it, open your eyes." That voice was not Michele's, his cloud-filled brain realized. With a groan of pure misery, he opened one eye to find Hobbes leaning over him with concern on his face and his gun in his hand.

It took Darien a moment to understand what was going on, and to recognize the fact he lying on the floor, one large ache from head to toe. "H...Hobbes?" His throat screamed at him, forcing him to swallow convulsively, which then set his stomach to roiling in a way he knew was anything but good.

"Yeah, Fawkes. Musta been one hell of a party." Hobbes holstered his gun and helped Darien roll onto his back, then slowly sit up. "Shit, Fawkes." Hobbes plucked the red feathered tranq dart from just over Darien's heart and set it aside. "Alex and the Keep are on the way. Do you know where Michele is?"

Darien shook his head, but stopped quickly as his stomach rebelled. He drew up his knees and hung his head between them, trying to keep the contents of his stomach where they belonged. After a couple minutes of arguing, he won, but only this battle. He had the bad feeling the truce wouldn't last for long. "Umm, she stopped by last night. We...." He had to pause to think. Not all cylinders were firing yet. "Oh yeah, we watched a movie."

He groaned, as the truce was broken. Getting to his feet, far faster than he would have thought possible in his current condition, he made a mad dash for his bathroom and fell to his knees before the toilet just in time. He was in there for so damn long, heaving and dry retching until he was convinced everything he'd eaten for the last month had come back up.

When he staggered to his feet to wash his face and clean his mouth -- by gargling a half gallon of mouthwash -- his head felt clearer, but his memory of the evening before was a still fuzzy. Coming out of the bathroom, he stopped and stared in horror at the mess his place was. The pool table had be shoved up against the closet door, the felt shredded. The glass door to his fridge had been shattered by some unseen item, most of the contents splattered all over the interior and floor, with what looked like blood mixed in. Ketchup didn't dry to that distinctive brown color.

The bookcase by the front door was tipped over, blocking the doorway, books spilled everywhere. The door had been ripped off its hinges and was hanging by the security chain atop the remains of the bookcase. His sofa was tipped over and lying under the window, stuffing oozing out from long tears in the fabric. Curtains pulled down from over the window to lie on the remains of the sofa. His entertainment center had survived, but there was what appeared to be another tranq dart sticking out of it, it had gotten caught between the CD player and the shelf.

He met Hobbes' gaze. "What happened here?"

"I was hoping you could tell me," Hobbes answered unhappily. "They trashed Michele's place as well."

Darien slumped against the wall and slid down to the floor, still not feeling all that well. He had one hell of a headache building and, checking his wrist, was relieved to see it wasn't from that. He still had five left green, nowhere near the danger zone. This was just a reaction to whatever he'd been shot with. "They got her, didn't they." It wasn't a question. The place wouldn't be this trashed otherwise. There wouldn't be a half-dozen tranq darts sticking out of various places if they hadn't. He wouldn't be sitting here alone, feeling nauseous and miserable, if the good guys had won the day. He just wished he could remember what had happened.

Hobbes had been searching the place and bent over to pick something up. Turning to show the item to Darien, who looked at it blankly, he said, "Care to explain?"

Darien groaned. Hobbes was gingerly holding a pair of black silk panties and now, looking about, he could see the rest of her clothes scattered throughout the room. "Oh, crap."

"Let me guess, you don't remember?" Hobbes somehow managed to sound both angry and exasperated.

Darien tried to convince his brain to function correctly, but he still came up blank. What the hell did he -- they -- do last night? "Not a thing after watching the movie. You'd think I'd remember if we did *that* Hobbes."

"All right. We know she was here. Let's assume it was for company and not hanky-panky, seeing as you're... dressed." Hobbes picked up the rest of Michele's clothes and piled them at the foot of the bed.

Darien looked down at himself and was surprised to find that Hobbes was correct. He was wearing one of his usual sets of mismatched pajama bottoms and a T-shirt. He shifted to hold his head in his hands and realized he had one hell of a bruise forming on the side of his face, where it must have connected with the floor. Oh, he'd forgotten the joys of being tranqed. Whatever they had used must have been rather strong, since it had stolen several hours of his memory and made him feel worse than a combined bout of binge drinking and Stage Three madness.

"Hobbes, we have to find her."

"On it, my friend, but I think we need to get you turned a less appetizing shade of green first." Hobbes crouched down by Darien and set a hand on his forehead. "You're burning up."

"Goody," Darien muttered, as his stomach made its discomfort known again. "Ah, hell." He crawled back to the bathroom and spent the next few minutes trying to force his stomach up through his esophagus. By the time it was over, he was weak as a newborn kitten.

"Keep's here, Fawkes," Hobbes called from the other room, and seconds later she was at his side.

"My hero," he mumbled, suddenly wanting nothing more than to sleep. If Claire said anything, he didn't hear it. There was a sudden buzzing in his ears that drowned out everything else and, with only a hint of regret, he slipped back into the welcoming darkness.

When Darien next returned to consciousness, it wasn't much more enjoyable than the last. He still felt incredibly sick, his head still pounding, his tongue swollen, and his stomach just simply hurt. Like he'd pulled every muscle in his abdomen, and their cousins. When he cracked open his eyes, it felt like hot needles were being shoved directly into his pupils. "Keep?" he whimpered hopefully.

"She's on her way, Fawkes, just take it easy." He knew that voice, and it was just about the last one he'd expected to hear.

"Alex?" He blinked his eyes and forced himself to focus.

"Yeah, it's me." She came over to him and set a hand on his arm. "Take it easy. Claire said you had a reaction to the sedative, but you'll be fine in a day or so."

"Oh. Is that what happened?" He tried to sit up, only to have her -- quite easily -- hold him in place. He couldn't just lie here when Michele was missing. He had to help somehow.

"Fawkes, Darien, don't even bother. You wouldn't be able to walk." There was more than a hint of sympathy in her voice. That was enough to make him realize that everything that could be done was being done, and one half dead invisible man would make no difference whatsoever.

"How long have I been out?" he asked as he relaxed back onto the bed. His surroundings making an impression, he deduced he was not in the Keep.

"A few hours. Claire's running some tests. She should be back any minute." Alex dragged the chair over and sat down with a sigh. "And before you ask, no we haven't found her. She and whoever grabbed her have vanished into thin air."

"Shit," Darien snarled and regretted it as his head pounded in time to his heartbeat. "Thought you and Hobbes said they had cleared out."

"We thought they had. Look, Fawkes, I liked her too, but it wasn't like she really wanted to be here any more than she wanted to be there. We were convenient, nothing more. Don't delude yourself into thinking otherwise." She leaned back in the chair and stared off into the distance, tapping one finger absentmindedly on the arm of the chair.

Claire came into the room then reading some printouts, when she lifted her head and saw Darien squinting at her she smiled. "Good, you're awake. How are you feeling?" She moved over and took his wrist into her hand to take his pulse. Her touch, gentle as it was, hurt.

"Last time I felt this bad, Arnaud was on a gland hunt," Darien admitted wearily.

"Sounds about right. You had a rather nasty reaction to that sedative, but you're past the worst of it," Claire informed him, telling him exactly what Alex had just minutes ago.

"Where's Hobbes?" Darien was hoping his partner might have some news that Alex didn't. He wasn't ready to give up hope, no matter how bleak the situation looked.

Alex answered. "Upstairs, talking to the Official and Eberts. It seems someone raided the computer system. Made copies of just about everything. They were damn good and left almost no trail." Alex didn't make any accusations, but it was plain that she thought Michele might have done it, or if not her, then those she had run from.

"Alex, I told her I'd help her." Darien tried to get her to understand that they had to do something, anything, to get her back, even if she chose to move on and not stay with the Agency afterwards.

"So did I, Fawkes. And we're doing everything we can, but there isn't much to go on." Alex got to her feet and came back to his side. "I better get back to it. Get well, Darien."

He watched her leave the room, amazed that she seemed sincere about wanting to get 'Chele back. He focused on the Keep, who was doing something to the IV line that was stuck in his arm.

"She made an impression on all of us, Darien." Claire gave him a wan smile and made some notes in the file on the table.

Darien turned his head away to stare at the far wall. Apparently his luck with women was consistent. About the time he got close to them, the worst would happen. Flashes of memory intruded on that thought, memories that explained why her clothes had been strewn all over his place. With a groan, he closed his eyes.

"Darien, are you all right?" Claire was back at his side, once again checking his pulse.

"Fine, Keep. Just fine."

_What is it they say? Better to have loved and lost than to have never loved at all? I can safely say it's a load of crap. In my life, loving someone is like a death sentence for them. I won't go through that again._

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 Epilogue

He watched dispassionately as the girl was dragged kicking and screaming from the black van by three men. Even under the effects of the drugs, she fought like a hell-cat. One of the men suddenly let go, his hands going to his head and blood running from his nose. The other two grabbed on even tighter, one wrapping his arms about her waist, the other her legs, and together they lifted her off the ground.

She screamed behind the gag and her eyes were wild. Her hands, which had been tightly tied together, were suddenly free and flailing about at the men holding her. She pulled down the gag and screamed at the top of her lungs. The guy down by her feet was flung aside and landed on the ground hard enough to be knocked unconscious. Once her feet were down she went after the one holding her waist. She flung her head back right into his nose, making him scream and back away, his hands trying to staunch the blood flowing down his face.

Without her even looking back, the van she'd arrived in flung itself into the air to flip over three times before crashing to the ground. Then she snarled, "I warned you, Corvan." and charged him. She was fast, angry, scared. He was faster. Grabbing her arms, he spun her about and slammed her into the side of the limousine he'd been leaning against as he watched her performance. "'Chele, my dear, time to wake up." She struggled in his hold, forgetting that she could fling him away with a blast of her mind. One of his hands came up to caress her face, and he felt a surge of pleasure as she froze, at the panic in her eyes, at the hurried rise and fall of her chest as she tried to catch her breath.

*_'Chele, come back to me.*_

She blinked in confusion for several seconds, then slumped in his hold. "Mikey?"

*_'Chele...* he admonished._

*_Is it over?* She sounded tired, like this mission had taken a lot out of her._

*_For now.* Shifting her, he opened the door and helped her inside. Handing her a duffle, she began to change out of the dark blue jumpsuit she'd been wearing. As she pulled the black leather pants on she sighed. *__Did you get what we were after?* he asked._

She was pulling the shirt over her head, but that was no barrier to their discussion. *_All we needed and more.* She then pulled on her boots, comfortable, broken in till they fit just right. Damn, she'd missed her boots._

Michael leaned forward to tap on the glass and the limo began to move. *_All the files? The samples?* She adjusted the shirt and decided, after a moment's contemplation, to leave the jacket off for now. Shifting, she snuggled up against him, reacquainting herself with him by scent, taste, and touch. *__I memorized the formulas. The Fawkes samples were not accessible to me.*_

*_Damn, we needed that mRNA and sperm sample.* Michael drew her in closer, helping her reconnect with the present, now that the imposed personality had been purged as planned. *__Memory?*_

*_Intact.* She kissed him lightly, as a reminder of exactly what she was. *__I did get another sample that may work just as well.*_

Michael sensed something in her tone that he didn't like. *_Show me.*_

For the first time ever, she resisted and refused to open up to him. "No, 'Corvan'. Not this time."

"Michele, what did you do?" He grabbed her chin painfully hard with one hand and forced her to meet his eyes. Hers were silver, while he had one silver and one half blue, half green. For him, the Phase II process hadn't worked. Out of all those they tried it on, only she had successfully adapted. He had barely survived. She had thrived.

"What did I do?" She smiled slyly, letting him figure it out.

"Fawkes. You went and fell for Fawkes, didn't you? The brother." He was extremely angry at first -- she was his and no one else's. He'd trained her, brought her in, groomed her for this work, and knew best how to use her in all things. Pushing her down on the seat, he loomed over her, wanting to teach her a lesson, but realizing quickly it would do no good. She looked up at him with a calm expression that told him more than any mind-to-mind communication ever could.

"Well, it's about time you found it for yourself." He gave her one last kiss, a farewell to the closeness they'd shared over the years. She knew it for what is was and participated fully. They would always be close -- it was unavoidable given that they were twins. When he pulled away, it was for good. She had moved on; it was evident in her look, her carriage, her feel. "Was it worth it?"

She grinned at him as she sat up. "Give it a couple of weeks and we'll know for sure." She rested a hand on her abdomen so that he would be sure to get the point. "You may be an uncle yet, dear brother."

Michael tipped his head back and laughed.

Finis.


End file.
